


In My World

by LadyKleo



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKleo/pseuds/LadyKleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to one theory, there are many worlds, all connected to each other, where all the things are very similar, but not exactly the same. Imagine what would happen if a Hero from one world would accidentally get into another!</p><p>Sort of AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A new story from me. I hope it won't be as long as The Curse of Amell. :)
> 
> I'm not a native speaker, so feel free to point at any grammar errors/wrong words/etc.

 

  
It all began two weeks earlier. Martin Hawke started to see visions. Strange ghostly people were wandering around his mansion as if they were living there. They didn’t seem to notice him or each other, just minding their own business. None of his servants could see them, and when he mentioned these ghosts to Anders, the healer recommended he stopped mixing lyrium with alcohol. At first this suggestion seemed plausible because Martin did drink a lot, especially after his reunion with Fenris. But then he realised that he saw more ghosts being completely sober. So it had to be something else. He heard stories about Kirkwall mages gone absolutely insane with no particular reason, but he believed it wasn’t his case. 

Martin looked at a rune in his hand. Some time ago Varric asked for his friends’ help in  investigating his brother’s mansion. The distortion in the Veil was caused by a piece of the idol Bartrand brought from the Deep Road expedition several years before. Despite all the dwarf’s assurances that a small shard couldn’t harm anyone, Martin decided to get rid of it. But instead of destroying the blighted thing Sandal turned it into a rune. It would be reckless to actually use it to enhance a weapon, so it was lying on the desk in the study, occasionally playing a role of a paperweight. Now Martin carefully traced the lines of the rune with his fingertip, feeling it getting warm under his touch. Suddenly it exploded in a flash of a bright red light, and only Hawke’s survival instincts saved him from flying into the fireplace. It didn’t save his head from hitting the wall though, so he was now sitting on the floor, pressing his glowing hand to his bleeding forehead and spitting curses through his teeth. 

“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice asked.

Martin looked at the door, trying to focus his vision on a figure standing there. The flash blinded him, and everything around still looked quite blurry. 

“The bloody thing exploded,” he waved his free hand towards the desk.

“Right. That doesn’t explain why you’re _here_.”

“What?” Martin shook his head. “Andraste’s ass, Anders, what are  _you_   doing here?”

“ _I_   live in this house. And you’re in trouble, or you will be when Hawke returns home.”

“Wait. I think I misheard you. Did you say ‘Hawke returns home’? Who am I then?”

“That’s what I’m asking  _you_ !”

Martin finally managed to stop the blood and stood up. Something was very wrong, but he couldn’t explain it.

“I’m Hawke.”

“A relative then?” Anders asked cautiously.

“What are you talking about, man?” Martin bumped his fist into the desk.

“Is everything alright?”

A white-haired woman in a heavy silverite armour entered the study. A sword attached to her back was even bigger than those Fenris usually carried around. Her face looked painfully familiar, even though Martin was sure he’d never seen her before. 

“I’m dealing with it, love.” Anders turned to her and smiled.

“He looks like one of  _them_ ,” the woman muttered, then stepped towards Martin. “Who are you?” 

“I could ask you the same question!”

“Bodahn!” She called, and the dwarf appeared in the room almost immediately. “Tell this person who I am.”

“Of course, Messere.” Bodahn smiled. “This is Athena Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall and the Mistress of this noble house.”

* * *

One hour and two bottles of whisky later they came to a conclusion that it wasn't a stunt. Both Martin and Athena knew things only the firstborn child of Malcolm and Leandra would know. 

"I heard a theory," Anders suggested. "There are many worlds, all connected to each other, where all the things are very similar, but not exactly the same. What if in one such a world your parents had a son instead of a daughter?"

"You mean me," Martin looked into his empty cup and sighed. "Then for some reason our worlds collided, and I got here." 

"Precisely," Anders nodded.

"What do we do to get him back to his world?" Athena asked.

"I have no idea," the healer shrugged.

“I think it has something to do with that rune,” Martin said.

“What rune?”

“The one Sandal made from the piece of Bartrand’s idol.”   
“He never made anything like that. Varric took the shard,” Athena muttered.

“Shit!” Martin crossed his arms on his chest. “That means I’m stuck here.”


	2. Chapter 2

What a ridiculous situation, Martin thought, surfing through Anders's wardrobe. Most of the garments there were new. Despite living in Hightown the healer was faithful to his feathered coat. Deep in a far corner Martin noticed his father's robe, cleaned and carefully folded. Anders never dared to even touch it. Martin put it on, considering that it was rightfully his. With Staff of Parthalan fixed on his back he now looked like Malcolm, minus the beard. At least some things slowly returned to their places.

"Now I feel much better," he turned to Anders. "Talking to you while wearing my pajama is not something I'm used to."

"So, in your world, we're not... You know..."

"No, we're not," Martin grinned.

"Good. That would be awkward," the healer sighed in relief.

"Don't worry, man. I'm not going to hit on you," Martin laughed. "You're like a brother to me. Better than the blighted templar anyway."

Anders looked confused, but didn't say anything.

"Right..." Martin lowered his voice. "Is everything ready in the Chantry?"

"What are you talking about?" the healer whispered, closing the door.

"Don't tell me you're not planning to use that mad dwarf's invention?" Martin asked cautiously.

"I... I dismissed the idea. It's not right. We still can change things peacefully. We're working on it. Athena helps me greatly."

"Back to manifestos?" Martin couldn't believe his ears.

"Believe me, it's better this way..."

"It's too late! Meredith has already sent the request for the Right of Annulment! Did you know that?"

"That's a rumour..."

Martin shook his head. His friend was as passionate about freeing mages all around Thedas by all means necessary as he was. This Anders wasn't ready to do the most important step.

"Coward," he roared under his breath and stomped out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Anders followed him to the common room.

"To the Hanged Man! I need a drink!"  


* * *

  
The tavern greeted Martin with a familiar stench of cheap whisky and unwashed bodies. Few customers turned their heads towards the door, but there was no recognition in their glances, merely curiosity. Normally they would have cheered seeing the Champion, but not this time. He grabbed a mug of ale, preparing to sit in a dark corner and listen to people. There should be a reason why Anders resorted to paperwork instead of fighting. What if in this world mages are in a better position? He needed to know that.

"You're new in Kirkwall, aren't you?"

Isabela was standing right next to him, with a bottle of wine in her hand.

"I am," he tried hard to look at her as if they were strangers. "Why do you ask?"

"We rarely see well-dressed men such as yourself here, in the Hanged Man. Usually they stay away from Lowtown."

"I've been to the Blooming Rose," Martin grinned. "Nice place, but too well-lit for my taste."

"Oh, I like you already!" the pirate laughed. "I'm Isabela. Captain Isabela."

"I think I've seen your ship. The Siren's Call II? She's a beauty!" Martin knew that mentioning Isabela's biggest love would help him to win her heart.

"How did you know the name? It's not official yet," she looked at him suspiciously.

"One of your men told me," Martin cursed himself silently.

"Right..."

"But she is a beauty! And the name fits her," he smiled and invited her to sit down. "I'm Martin, by the way."

"So, what brings you to Kirkwall?" she looked relaxed, though Martin knew it was an illusion.

"Visiting relatives. Not my choice, but I'm trying to enjoy it as much as possible," he chuckled, looking at his mug.

Then something else attracted Martin's attention. Fenris entered the room, carrying a massive backpack. He nodded to Isabela and rushed upstairs. Martin's back stiffened. His relationship with the elf was complicated. They spent years trying to realize what they felt for each other, and even after a mutual confession it was still uneasy. One moment they would yell at each other, being unable to agree on anything even slightly related to magic, the next moment Martin would cover Fenris's lips with his, just to make him quiet. And then... Martin blinked, sending memories away, and turned back to Isabela.

"A friend of yours?" he asked nonchalantly.

"My first-mate-to-be. If I win the bet," she giggled.

"The bet?"

Isabela had no chance to explain because Fenris reappeared on top of the stair. He went down and dropped on the bench next to her.

"Where is the dwarf?" he asked.

"He's got a message from someone and left in haste without giving me any details," the pirate shrugged.

Martin watched the elf waving to the bartender, asking for wine. Fenris wasn't wearing his spiky armour, but he had the Sword of Mercy. Martin remembered the day he'd brought the sword to Fenris's mansion only to listen to the elf barking about the magisters. Apparently Athena was more persuasive in this situation. Isabela's hand slid along Fenris's waist, and she whispered something into his ear. He shook his head with a light grin. Martin looked away.

"I'm sorry," the elf turned to him. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Fenris."

"Martin. Martin Hawke."

"Hawke?" Isabela and Fenris said simultaneously.

"Yes. I take it, you know Athena."

"Who doesn't?" the pirate laughed. "I knew I saw that spear somewhere."

She pointed at Martin's staff. Fenris's eyes narrowed. Isabela noticed that and poked his arm with her finger.

"Don't mind him," she smiled to Martin. "It's nothing personal. The only mage he trusts is Bethany."

"Bethany?"

Martin felt a drop of cold sweat running down his neck. Could it be possible that his little sister was alive here? Could it be that the ogre didn't kill her? Would he be able to see her once more?

"Last time I saw her and Carver they were still kids," he added quickly.

"Carver..." Isabela said slowly. "Hawke told us about him. Poor lad."

"Yeah..."

On many occasions Martin wished Carver to die instead of Bethany. But now he realised that wish was not sincere. For the first time in his life he felt sorry for his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

Martin was sitting on a crate next to the Hanged Man entrance and observing passersby. Nobody, aside from several prostitutes, noticed him, but it bothered him less than other things. The more he learned about this "world", the less he liked it and the less he tolerated the idea of being stuck in it forever. Mages were severely abused by the templars, and there was no one to protect them. The Mages Underground was destroyed. All the decent enchanters were locked in the Circle. Athena tried to make their life better, but there was nothing she could do at that moment. She supported the idea of the Circle way too long before she realised she was wrong. And she still believed in a peaceful resolution of the conflict. Even Anders took her side, resorting to his manifestos.

"Are you lost?"

A familiar voice made Martin return to the reality. Merrill was standing next to him with a basket of food in her hands.

"No, I'm not," he shrugged.

"You just don't look like you're from here," she observed him with curiosity. "From Lowtown, I mean."

"I used to live here, but it was a long time ago," he moved aside, freeing some space for her on the crate. "A very long time..."

"And now you're back," she sat on the corner of the crate carefully.

"I'd rather stay where I was," he gave her a sad smile. "I was dragged here by circumstances against my will."

"Oh, I know this feeling!" Merrill nodded.

"I bet you do," he said, then added, noticing her suspicious glance. "You're a Dalish Keeper, living in a human city..."

"How did you know I was a Keeper?" she jumped on her feet.

"Your staff," Martin shrugged. "Among your people, only Keepers have them. It does look like a walking stick, but it'd need a better disguise to fool a mage."

With these words he opened his palm, creating a small ball of fire floating in the air. The elf nodded and sat back.

"Do you think I should cover it with something?" she asked.

"You shouldn't take it with you when you're going shopping."

"I'll keep it in mind. I just feel... unsafe. Many bad things have happened recently, and I don't think it's the end of them. This staff, it's the only thing that connects me with my past," Merrill said with a trembling voice. "I... I'm sorry for telling you that. Usually I'm not that open with strangers."

"It's fine," he smiled.

"Thank you, Hawke... I guess I needed to talk..."

"Wait!" Martin almost jumped on his feet. "How did you call me?"

"Oh..." Merrill looked confused. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I..."

"It  _is_  my family name," he tried to calm her down. "But how did you know it?"

"I don't know... I have no idea why I called you that. Are you..."

"A relative. Yes. My name is Martin."

"I'm Merrill," she smiled. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Should I walk you home?"

"No. But thank you for offering me that."

She grabbed her basket and ran towards the Alienage. Martin looked at her back and sighed. He hoped that somehow she remembered him, or at least knew something about him or the situation he got into. But it seemed to be merely a feeling, maybe, the elf sensed his aura that is identical to Athena's. He fixed the staff on his back and walked back to Hightown.

* * *

* * *

Fenris asked him once, what should a person do to begin their life anew. Back then Martin was sure he knew the answer. Stop running, take what is rightfully yours, and, if something important should be done, do it yourself. Now following his own advice wasn't that easy. There was nothing that would belong to him, nobody needed him, and the most important things in his life just vanished. Of course, he could accept the fact that this place was now his new home and start building a new life. But that would mean to admit his defeat, and that was not something he was ready for.

However, if he was going to stay at least for some time, there was one thing he had to do. And it was crucial, because Anders already refused to do what was necessary.

Martin turned on his heel and rushed towards Darktown.


	4. Chapter 4

It was there, in Anders’s storage in Hawke’s cellar. A small but complex mechanism enhanced by the Fade magic, able to reduce to a dust a small village if surrounded by lyrium and given a proper magical order, totally harmless otherwise. In Martin’s world, he and Anders had worked for almost two years creating this beauty. Here, Anders had nobody to rely on aside from himself. That must have been extremely hard. Martin carefully wrapped the mechanism in a piece of fabric and put it into his bag. Now he was ready for the next step. 

It looked like the luck was on his side. Anders brought all the other parts of the bomb into the Chantry, including lyrium, before he decided to step back. All Martin needed was to place the detonator behind the statue of Andraste. And now, when nobody recognised him, it was easier than it could ever be. He only had to wait till the Grand Cleric would start arguing with Sebastian about his inability to decide which is more important - to be a priest or to be a prince. The actual planting took only a few moments. He just slipped it into a right place, and a quiet click let him know that it was ready. And then Martin noticed that Anders was watching him from a distance. He shrugged, being unable to stop a slight grin, then walked briskly past the blonde. Anders followed him, but, to Hawke’s surprise, he didn’t seem to be in a mood for an argument. 

“It was the right choice,” Martin stated.  
“It was,” Anders put a hand on his shoulder for a moment. “I heard some unsettling news. Two mages disappeared from the Gallows, and I know they weren’t freed.”  
“Someone you knew?”  
“Only by names, but that’s enough.”  
“Yes. Did you upgrade the staff?”  
“Not yet,” Anders weighed Cold-Blooded in his hand. “But I gathered all the runes.”  
“It was the right choice,” Martin repeated.

* * *

It worked. Martin had his doubts, but the bomb did its job beautifully. The sky looked like it was painted with blood now. He tried not to think about the innocents who might have died in the Chantry, after all, there is no war without victims, and he’d rather had them among priests than his people. He planned the explosion to happen during Meredith’s weekly visit to the Cathedral, but it was even better that way. Anders talked about removed compromise, Meredith barked about the Right of Annulment, Sebastian demanded Anders’s death, Athena yelled at Anders that she had enough of his revolution and didn’t want to see him anymore, but Martin barely heard them. He looked at the crimson sky. It had happened!

Then a clash of swords returned him to the reality. Both Meredith and Orsino left, and the templars, having no other enemies left, attacked Hawkes and their friends. Martin caught a glimpse of Athena. Despite all her disagreements with Anders she refused to support the Knight-Commander, and now was cutting her way to the docks. Everyone followed her without a question. Martin smiled. She was a perfect leader for the revolution, even if she didn’t know it yet.

Suddenly a sharp pain pierced his stomach. Martin looked down. It was an arrow, a coward’s weapon. He laughed. It seemed the Maker had a sense of humour, killing him one step before the most important battle. Anders ran towards him, but Martin waved him away, showing his own hand glowing with blue light. He knew he wasn’t even remotely as good a healer as Anders, and most probably his powers wouldn’t be enough, but he couldn’t allow his friend to spend his precious time on him. And Anders left, even before Athena and the others were able to deal with the templars. Merrill tried to give him her injury kit, but he shook his head. It would have been a waste of medicine. 

“Go, do what must be done”, he whispered to her, and she nodded. “I’ll be alright”.

He closed his eyes. The pain was so constant that he didn’t pay attention to it anymore. His death was only a matter of time, and he didn’t care. The only regret he had was that he wasn’t able to thank his friends for being there for him or to tell Fenris he did care. 

Someone touched his shoulder lightly. 

“Do you need help?”

Martin opened his eyes. Her hair was shorter, her face was narrower, and she was older, but he recognized her anyway. 

“Bethany...” he exhaled.

“How did you...” she noticed the staff of Parthalan lying on the ground next to him. “Who are you?”

“A relative,” he smiled. “I’m fine, I’ll manage...” He nodded at his still-glowing hand. “Athena went to the docks, you still can get to her before she sails to the Gallows.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” She pressed her palm to his cheek as if it wasn’t the first time they met.

“Go, sweetheart, take your Father’s staff and go,” for a moment he touched her hand. “Protect our people.”

She did as he asked. He watched her leaving, unable to hold back the tears any longer. 

“Goodbye, sister...”

* * *

The headache was intolerable. Wait, why his head was hurting when he was shot in his stomach? Hawke slowly opened his eyes. He was lying in his bed with a wet towel on his forehead. Orana was sitting at his desk with a book, one of those cheap romance novels Varric brought once in a while. Downstairs Anders and Fenris were arguing about something, and Bodhan tried to calm them down. Everything seemed to be back to normal. 

And there was the blighted red rune, blinking on his end table. Without hesitation, Martin whispered “Fist of the Maker”. He never felt better.


End file.
